Twilight
by M C Pehrson
Summary: Story #43 Spock and his wife Lauren are no longer fugitives. As they face the consequences of their actions, Captain Kirk battles his own demons.


**Twilight** **By: M. C. Pehrson**

Seated at the very end of a courtroom bench, Captain Kirk leaned forward, listening intently. The movement sent tongues of pain licking down his shoulders and back, but he ignored the discomfort. He held his breath as the presiding officer ruled on the fate of the accused, Doctor Lauren Fielding. So far she had been found not guilty on each count.

The recital continued. "…Regarding the more serious charges against you—those connected to the armed, forcible abduction of a Starfleet prisoner—it is the opinion of this court that you had reasonable cause to believe that your husband's physical welfare depended on freeing him from incarceration and avoiding recapture. However, it is also the opinion of this court that you failed to exhaust every appropriate legal channel before taking your unlawful action. Therefore, the court finds you guilty as charged. You are hereby sentenced to 63 days of confinement, retroactive, with an immediate reduction in rank to lieutenant."

Kirk eased back in the bench. Lauren had been confined for exactly 63 days while awaiting trial, so in essence she was almost receiving an acquittal…along with a good, hard slap on the wrist. The courtroom grew very still as the presiding officer issued a stern admonishment to Spock's wife for the role she had played in the Vulcan's escape from Admiral Morrow's office at Headquarters. Lauren stood tall, her shoulders squared, her head unbowed. Kirk had to admire her. He could well imagine what was going through her mind—the wild, explosive mix of relief and anger.

Then suddenly it was over. Kirk waited where he was while Lauren accepted congratulations from the friends and family who had stood by her throughout her ordeal. After a while the room cleared and Lauren came over. Stepping over his legs, she sank down beside him and sighed loudly.

"Hey, cheer up," he said. "You're going home."

Lauren pushed at her wavy blonde hair and rubbed her temples. "I know. I'm just worried about Spock. Maybe they let me off easy because of the children, but he still has that manslaughter charge against him."

"It was self-defense," Kirk reminded her, but prosecution had hammered home the fact that Spock used excessive force in repelling his cellmate's assault. Even Spock had admitted to it while he was on the stand. For a brief space of time he had allowed his emotions to take over—rage, hatred, a desire for revenge. All very human, understandable feelings. But when the jury panel looked at Spock, they did not see his human half. They saw a highly disciplined Vulcan and they expected him to act like one.

His trial had been ugly and emotionally draining. When the defense witnesses talked about conditions at the Luna prison, Kirk had literally squirmed in his seat. After hearing Spock quietly testify about assaults from fellow inmates and abuse from the prison staff, he had gone home to his apartment and gotten very, very drunk. He was fighting his own daily battle with depression. What could he possibly say to Lauren that would encourage her? At last he simply put a hand on her shoulder.

Straightening, she took a deep breath and said, "Do you know what bothers me most about this whole thing?"

He shook his head.

"Sarek—sitting right down the street in the Vulcan embassy." Her voice simmered with anger. "You know the kind of influence he has, and he's never once said a word, not one single word in defense of his son."

Kirk gave a grim nod. He had tried talking to Spock's father, but it was like butting his head against a solid wall of Vulcan granite. "Sarek is a proud, obstinate man."

"That's putting it kindly. He's managed to alienate everyone who gives a damn about Spock."

"Including his wife." Kirk had always been fond of Spock's human mother, had always sensed the grit that lay just underneath that elegant, refined surface. And now that Amanda had left Sarek and all that she held dear on Vulcan to come and lend her son and his family her support, Kirk admired her more than ever.

There was no question where Amanda Grayson would be today. Just down the hall, at the chamber where Spock's court-martial was still in session. T'Beth had also opted to remain with her father. The trial was in its final stage, and she had not wanted to miss a single word of testimony. A ruling was expected by week's end.

"Forget Sarek," Kirk said. "When this is over, I'm going to throw you and Spock a big party—whether you like it or not."

Lauren managed a wan smile. "What makes you think there'll be anything to celebrate?"

Kirk put his hand over Lauren's and looked into her thick-lashed eyes. They were gentian blue, and in his opinion the greatest of her many beauties. "There already _is_ cause to celebrate. You're free, Lauren— _free!_ Now let's…" He almost said _walk._ "Let's go down the hall and show you off to that husband of yours."

He hoisted himself off the bench and into his wheelchair. The lightweight, superbly balanced piece of equipment had been custom made to suit his body and his tastes. No grav-chair for him. This chair was strictly manual and it made him work at getting around. It helped remind him that at least part of his body still functioned.

Releasing the brake, he spun the chair expertly and pumped it toward the chamber exit. As he did so, a haunting image from the past popped into his mind—Christopher Pike, his predecessor as captain of the Enterprise. There had been an accident, a terrible mishap that left Pike's body mutilated. Decades had passed, but he still remembered the horror and pity he felt at the sight of Pike's ruined, disfigured body encased in a mobile cabinet.

Kirk had to wonder. Was that how others saw him? If only he could walk again. Oh, he had been fitted with an exo-shell and trained in its use, but you couldn't walk normally in that contraption. It was slow going, thinking out every move or you would lose your balance and drop like a sack. Exo-shell—what a perfect name. Wearing it made him feel like some kind of bug…

Kirk's hand went slack against the gleaming wheel grips and Lauren almost bumped into him. Rousing himself, he moved through the automatic doorway, down the polished corridor to Spock's courtroom. The wheels made a soft noise as they glided over the tile and took up position in the rear of the crowded chamber. Spock recognized the sound. Up at the defendant's table, his head turned. Dark Vulcan eyes glanced Kirk's way, then found Lauren and went still. There was an almost imperceptible smile—hardly a shout for joy, but Kirk looked over and found Lauren grinning ear to ear.

oooo

Kirk sat just beyond the invisible security barrier of Spock's holding cell. The guards would not allow him inside; oh no, it wouldn't do to leave him at the mercy of the very man convicted of trying to murder him. Never mind that the accusation had been ridiculous from the beginning, and ample testimony had now been given to absolve Spock of that particular charge. One must await the official verdict.

Kirk gazed into Spock's tiny cell. It provided the pull-out bunk Spock was sitting on, a sink, and a toilet that slid discreetly into the wall. There were no other amenities, aside from a vid-screen with library access. Kirk had to wonder how, after months of this, the Vulcan kept from going stark raving mad. But then he remembered the stories coming to light about the Luna facility and decided that a bare holding cell might not be such a terrible place, after all.

Spock had spent nearly six months at Luna. It was not something the Vulcan discussed outside the courtroom, but Kirk could see that the experience had changed him. These visits were always awkward. Spock said very little, and it embarrassed Kirk to see him in the glaring orange jumpsuit that prisoners were required to wear outside the courtroom.

Kirk wanted to talk about the trial, but the words just wouldn't come. He dreaded tomorrow's ruling. It wasn't a matter of the original conviction; that would certainly be overturned. Like Lauren, he was apprehensive about the other charges against Spock. He seemed to sense a general feeling among the powers of Starfleet that things had gotten seriously out of hand. It did not matter that Kirk had argued long and hard on Spock's behalf; no, it would not matter at all to those who considered the brash Captain Kirk to be an integral part of the problem. He knew how those people saw him—as a headstrong maverick who disregarded orders whenever the mood struck. And now the prosecution was twisting Spock's record the same way. Actions that had previously been considered inventive and courageous were being called something else entirely. Spock had masterminded the strike that led to Luna's closure, and however noble and worthy his reasons, the ongoing publicity was proving most embarrassing to certain high-ranking officers.

"Captain…"

Kirk rose from his thoughts and found Spock standing on the other side of the force field, looking at him intently.

"What is it, Spock?"

The lights dimmed suddenly, casting the Vulcan's face in shadow. The starbase was about to close down its brig for the night.

Spock spoke in a low voice. "Jim—you must not let yourself be unduly affected by tomorrow's verdict."

Kirk maneuvered his wheelchair a little closer to the cell. "Spock, it hasn't been read yet. No one with half a brain would convict you."

Spock's gaze held him. "Promise me."

The hallway echoed with the brisk boot steps of an approaching guard.

Kirk nodded. "Sure, Spock. Try and get some sleep."

Spock watched in silence as he wheeled down the hall.

oooo

Pausing before his bedroom mirror, Kirk tugged at his uniform. His attention turned to the pale, taut face above the maroon jacket. The eyes seemed overly large, haunted by pain and disappointment and fear. He had been drinking again last night, and it showed. His tongue felt thick and his head throbbed. A tingling in his arms told him that the damage went even deeper. Not that he really gave a damn. Not today. Not after the idea that had come to him over his half-eaten breakfast.

Feeling jittery, he pivoted his chair and wheeled past the medication tray at his bedside. Time enough for that, later. Judging by how his stomach felt, the stuff wouldn't stay down, anyway.

Out in the living room he glanced at his mantel clock. The door chime sounded and he nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Come in," he called, and the voice-activated lock cycled open.

Doctor McCoy let himself into the apartment and was too occupied with his own nerves to quiz Kirk about his medication, the way he usually did.

"Ready?" McCoy asked.

"Ready," Kirk answered, his palms clammy. It was all he could do to work the handrails as he preceded McCoy into the hallway.

Going through with his plan would draw everyone's attention to his disability. Would he have the guts for that? The uncertainty tore at him until they arrived at the legal chamber and he set eyes on Spock. Family members had provided the Vulcan with appropriate clothing for the trial, and though Spock looked as dignified and self-possessed as ever, the civilian suit only underscored the painful fact that he was no longer permitted to wear a Starfleet uniform. And unless things went well today, that privilege would be permanently denied him.

Anger swept the nervousness from Kirk's stomach, and there was no longer any question about what he would do. He waited until the jury panel entered the courtroom and Admiral Beckman declared his intention to read the verdict. When Spock was ordered to rise, Kirk drew a deep breath and rolled his wheelchair up to the defendant's table. Spock cast him a puzzled glance, but Kirk turned his attention on the bench.

Squarely facing their disapproving glares, he announced, as Spock once did on his behalf, "I stand with my fellow officer and my friend."

A ripple of excitement passed through the chamber.

"Captain," the presiding officer addressed him in a chilly tone, "I must remind you that Mr. Spock is no longer a member of Starfleet…but you may remain at his side as long as you cause no further disruptions."

Beckman referred to a printout before him. "In light of the new evidence presented here, this court hereby reverses the former ruling on the attempted murder of Captain James T. Kirk. Mr. Spock, the court finds you innocent of the charge and hereby revokes all former penalties and punishments…"

Kirk almost smiled, but he knew it was too soon for that.

Beckman's expression remained grim as he moved on to another printout. "I now summarize the additional charges against you, and present the verdicts.

"Due to extenuating circumstances, the court has dropped the following charges: fomenting a prison revolt at Luna Correctional Facility, conspiring to escape from prison, escaping from prison, all seventeen counts of evading arrest, all eleven counts of using a fraudulent identity, and one count of vehicular theft. On behalf of the space station and planets listed in your indictment, the court drops all charges of violating entry laws."

Beckman paused. "The court has carefully considered the fatal assault on Vito Ronaldi. There are those who would dismiss him as nothing more than a vicious, predatory criminal…and he cannot stand here to defend himself. A man is dead—and you, Mr. Spock, freely admitted that there was no need for you to behave so violently. According to your own testimony, Ronaldi was disarmed in the first moments of struggle. With your superior strength and ability, you could easily have restrained him, but instead you chose to exact a most bloody vengeance. Therefore the court finds you guilty of aggravated assault and involuntary manslaughter."

A great outcry arose from the spectators, but Kirk scarcely notice. His hands trembled against his armrests and he gritted his teeth to keep from shouting a heartfelt protest. So what if Spock battered the brutal son-of-a-bitch? Had they forgotten what Ronaldi and his gang did to Spock? Had they forgotten that Ronaldi was out for murder when Spock overpowered him?

It seemed that Beckman repressed a sigh as he brought the courtroom to order and continued. "These crimes are serious, and though the court has made every effort to balance them against your service record, justice must be served. Therefore, Mr. Spock, the ban forever denying you all the rights and privileges of Starfleet is hereby reinstated. And effective immediately, you are sentenced to serve five years at the prison colony on Romar, retroactive to the first date of your original incarceration." He raised his gavel and slammed it back down on its base. "Guards…"

A pair of security officers moved toward Spock. Everyone began speaking at once. Stunned, Kirk glanced up at the Vulcan. Spock's eyes were hooded and unreadable, his features stony.

Kirk's heart pounded hard as he turned toward the departing jurors. "I stand with Spock!" he shouted, startling everyone, including himself. This, he had not planned. He was acting on pure impulse.

The jurors stopped to look at him. The courtroom grew hushed. Even the guards hesitated.

 _"_ _I…stand…with…Spock,"_ Kirk repeated, loudly emphasizing each and every word. "If he isn't fit to be a member of Starfleet, then neither am I. If there is a penalty to be paid, then I will share in it." Gathering his resolve, he said, "I resign!"

Somewhere behind him, all hell broke loose.

"Jim—no!" Spock said.

The objection was all but lost in a round of cheering and applause from the spectators. Kirk had no doubt that the loudest hurrahs came from his detractors—an odd mix of contemporaries and upstarts who were more than delighted to be rid of him. For their sake he almost regretted his decision, but then a peripheral motion caught his eye. The nervous security officers were clapping Spock into energy cuffs—right here, in full view of everyone in the courtroom. Kirk burned with outrage as he watched them give their prisoner an unwarranted shove and hustle him out a side door. At that moment he was glad—very glad, indeed—that he no longer had any active part in the organization called Starfleet.

oooo

Pale light streamed through Kirk's wall of windows and found him seated quietly in his wheelchair. The sun had set; the day was drawing to a close. All over the city, people were rushing about, heading home to their families for the weekend.

He tried to remember how it had felt to walk, to move effortlessly wherever he wanted. Sometimes at night he dreamed about it, even running like a carefree child on the Iowa farm where he spent most of his boyhood. But more often than not, there were nightmares—horrible little vignettes in which he would find parts of himself mutilated or missing altogether.

Shrinking from the memory, he used both hands to pick up his brandy decanter from a side table. As he poured himself another drink, his muscles began to tremor and the liquor splashed over the rim of his glass.

Just then McCoy stepped out of the kitchen, where he was preparing one of his old family recipes. The doctor's eyes went to the glass and glared with disapproval. "Jim, you're not supposed to touch that stuff, and you know it. As long as you're on neuroplex…" He interrupted himself. "You _are_ still taking your medicine, aren't you?"

"Why doctor," Kirk said sarcastically, "can't you tell?"

McCoy blinked and stared at him. It was painfully obvious that he couldn't tell at all. McCoy was a highly trained physician, and even he couldn't see if the neuroplex was bringing about any improvement. So he simply changed the subject. "Jim, I know you're upset about Spock, but believe me, this won't help. Alcohol is detrimental to your recovery. If you _have_ to drink, at least cut it with synthenol."

 _Synthenol?_ A man could drink a bucket of that bilge and never even know it. Kirk leaned back in his chair. Smiling bitterly, he took up his glass and watched the golden liquor dance with the unpredictable shaking of his hand. Then he drank it down. Every last drop.

Slurring only slightly, he said, "Bones, do you realize that my little namesake could die before Spock ever gets out of prison?" His throat constricted at the thought of the sickly three-year-old; there was a prickling sense of pressure behind his eyes. "James might never have a chance to know his father—and a lot of what he _will_ hear about Spock will only make him feel ashamed."

McCoy strode across the room, snatched up the decanter of Saurian brandy and whisked it away as if it belonged to him, as if the whole damn apartment was his.

Meeting the rancor in Kirk's bloodshot eyes, he said, "Then do something about it! Now that you've up and resigned from Starfleet, you'll have all the time in the world to tell Spock's kids what a wonderful guy he is. Unless, of course, you'd rather just sit around feeling sorry for yourself."

Kirk's temper blew. Drawing back his arm, he hurled his empty glass at McCoy. The doctor sidestepped, and the glass shattered impotently against a far wall. As they glared at one another, a chime sounded at the door.

Kirk slumped forward and cradled his reeling head in his hands. "Get out of here," he growled, "and take whoever that is, with you."

McCoy hesitated, then carried the decanter with him to the door. There was a sound of muted conversation and approaching footsteps. Even before looking, Kirk suspected who he would find. Though as always T'Beth set his blood stirring, it only served to remind him of everything he had lost.

"Dammit, Bones…" he began.

McCoy had left the decanter somewhere. Now he came over and tried to touch his shoulder. "Jim, listen to me."

Kirk jerked clear of the contact. "I thought I told you to go!"

Raising his hands, McCoy backed off. "Okay, I can take a hint. Enjoy the stew. And T'Beth, be careful of that broken glass on the floor. He's taken to throwing things."

As the doctor let himself out, Kirk sighed and closed his eyes and hoped that T'Beth would follow. But no, he heard her moving about, heard a faint tinkling of glass shards, and knew she was picking up after him.

Embarrassed and aggravated, he looked at her. "Just leave it, will you? I'm sure you have better things to do."

T'Beth took the broken glass into the kitchen and returned empty-handed. Tall and solemn and lovely, she gazed down at him. What could she possibly want? He had nothing to offer her or anyone else. Nothing.

Sinking down on one knee beside his wheelchair, she said, "Jim…I'm grateful…my whole family is grateful for what you did today in court…but we don't want you to throw away your career."

Kirk turned his head aside and forced a weak smile. "What career? Have you taken a good look at me lately? My days in Starfleet were numbered, anyway." He did not know what more to say. T'Beth's time on Earth was very limited; soon she would be heading back to her diplomatic work on Sydok. She shouldn't be here wasting these precious moments on him. "Do me a favor, okay? Go be with your dad."

She was silent for so long that he finally looked at her. He had expected to find tears, but the pain burning in her eyes was beyond weeping as she said, "He's already gone to the transport. They only let us see him for five minutes. I guess they didn't want to risk another prison break. And by the way, he said you made a promise to him…"

Kirk's conscience stirred uneasily. "I never said I'd stay in Starfleet. They had no business convicting him. This should never have happened, none of it. It wouldn't have, if I'd shown one ounce of common sense."

Her eyes widened. "What do you mean?"

His shoulders slumped under the crushing weight of guilt. "I'm talking about the accident, for one thing. My carelessness left Spock and me disabled—and worst of all, it gave T'Naisa Brandt an opportunity to frame your father."

"Jim—no," she protested.

He shook his head. It was high time these things were said. "It's true—and there's more. Over the years, I've managed to make some pretty high-powered enemies in Starfleet, and they've been just waiting for a chance like this. That's why they nailed Spock—to get back at me. Didn't you hear all that cheering when I announced my resignation?"

T'Beth drew a sharp breath and placed her hand on his leg. "Jim," she said in a soft, sad voice. "Jim, you're wrong. That accident could have happened to anyone. And those people in court were cheering in _support_ of you!"

Kirk's heart twisted. Why was she saying that? Did she think he was so fragile—so pitiable—that he couldn't bear the truth? He stared down at her hand. The nerves in his legs were dead; she knew that. He could no longer feel anything from the waist down. It was truly ironic. For years she had tried to seduce him, and now it was too late. He was incapable of making love to her or anyone else.

Her hand rose and met his face. As her warm fingers brushed over his cheek, he held himself very still, fighting the pleasure her touch gave him. It was a relief when she finally took her hand away.

T'Beth got to her feet and said, "Jim, believe me—they aren't out to get you. Ronaldi died of complications from the beating Father gave him. The court could have locked him away for a long time, but it levied the lightest possible sentence." She paused and her voice took on an almost motherly tone. "This isn't like you…and it worries me."

He stiffened. "What are you implying—that I'm losing my perspective? Listen, little girl, there may not be much left of my body, but there sure as hell isn't anything wrong with my mind."

She sighed. "You're growing so bitter. If you'd just open your heart a little. If you'd just try and let people help you…"

"No, thanks!" he snapped. The thought of T'Beth in the role of savior was more than he could stomach.

Her flowing Sy clothes made her look almost biblical as she gazed at him and said, "You're out to kill yourself, aren't you? I can see it in your face. You can't live the way you like, so you're going to hole up here in this apartment and kill yourself off by bits and pieces."

Her eyes moved to his hands. They were shaking again. Humiliated, Kirk tucked them out of sight. "Goodbye," he said coldly.

Tears welled and her jaw set as if she was still a hot-tempered teenager, but her words were as controlled as any Vulcan's. "Alright. I can see that you don't want me here. You don't want anyone, expect maybe my father, and that's not going to happen. So I guess it's goodbye, after all."

When he gave no response, she walked out of the apartment and he found himself alone at last. Twilight pressed upon the windows. On its shelf, the antique clock reached the top of the hour and chimed. Then there was only silence.

oooOooo


End file.
